The Soulless One
by jackjack2
Summary: Not every scar can be healed. Some wounds run quite deep indeed. He wants to kill them all. Make them suffer what they made him suffer. The Huntsmen must pay.
1. Chapter 1

_**This is a story based off the future and past of a character from an earlier story of mine, "**_ **Those Who Remain."** _ **If you don't like it, please tell me why. If you do, great! Enjoy!**_

* * *

 _ **The Soulless One**_

 **A Shattered Life**

 _The wind sweeping through the grassy plain whistled softly. The tall grass just beginning at the tips to wilt swayed back and forth as if unsure whether or not to obey the dictates of the air that drove them forward. As if in answer a boot crushed the indecisive stalks flat to the ground. Shocked, they struggled to lift their heads back to their former glory, only to find themselves crushed to the ground over and over, a half-dozen black metal-studded boots crushing them into dirt again and again. The fractured moon shining high above offered no sympathy. It had seen these black hoods on the move before. It knew what their coming meant…_

The leader held up his hand, an unmistakeable sign to the five figures following behind him. Quickly they formed up around him, staring almost greedily at their target several hundred yards before them.

From beneath his night-black hood the leader's lip curled into a slight grin. Most would have called it a snarl. It had been so many, many years since he had lived here. So much had changed since then, both within the city stretching out before them as well as within himself. The years seemed to melt away as he looked upon what remained of the City of Vale.

He had been awaiting this day for so long. He had imagined his return to the town of his birth every day since he had stumbled away that night. In his mind he had reconstructed every building, recalled every face, planned his every action. He had traced the steps he would take upon his arrival, the people he would visit, the old friends he would greet.

Then his plans had changed. No longer was he a lost son returning to an old home, but rather a soldier sneaking through the front line of the enemies. Yet still he had been eager to return to the city that had raised him after so many years away from civilization.

There was nothing left of the world he had once known. He should have suspected it. After all, he had been there at the beginning of the end. But even he had not suspected it to be this bad.

The most striking change in the last 10 or so years was the size of the city itself. It had once been a thriving metropolis, home of tens of thousands if not more. Culture and technology had thrived, supported by the blissful peace of the relative safety the walls of the city as well as Beacon Academy afforded.

Now at least a quarter of the city, mostly the residential area to the east, was in ruins, and was swarming with hordes of Grimm attracted by the taste of fear in the air. At some point new walls had been erected around the breach, sectioning it off from the rest of the city. But the thousands of people whose bleached bones hiding among the shattered timbers of their homes now grinned up at the sky cared little. Safety had come far too late for them.

The population had been cut at least in half, some dying, some missing, but most just fleeing to one of the Kingdoms that fared better. The man had heard these reports in dribs and drabs over the years. Now he saw the effects in person. Had he been _that_ kind of person, he probably would have shuddered. As it was, he simply continued forward. He had a job to do.

All of these changes had occurred in what had felt like an instant. He had seen it happen. He had been there that night. He could still feel the pulsing ululation of the sirens encompassing his every molecule, shaking every stone, drowning out all else. There had been nothing left, nothing but those unceasing, droning, all-consuming sirens…

* * *

 _The boy ran through the dirty back streets, his breath coming in sharp gasps. Some internal primal instinct drove him forward, fear clouding his every thought, adrenaline coursing through his thin limbs, and his terror mounting with each passing second. From every side noises pounded against his head. He found himself continually jumping in focus from one to the next, which only served to amplify his already considerable distress._

 _Nothing made sense any more. His city, Vale, was supposed to be a safe haven, a place where life could continue despite the ferocity of those vicious Grimm whose only desire seemed to be the destruction of all sentient life on the planet. His life had always been one of peace, trusting in the legendary Huntsmen and Huntresses to protect the people if all else failed._

 _Where were they now?_

 _That same thought kept repeating itself over and over in his mind. Where were the Guardians of Remnant now that the everyday people needed them?_

 _Beacon was under attack. He had seen smoke rising from all around it, heard the roars of a thousand Grimm, and tasted the fear that permeated the air. Ships were flying all around, picking up students, civilians, and soldiers from the area. But the boy could not join them. Not yet._

 _Grimm were running rampant in the streets, and no amount of Atlas robots would be able to stem the rushing tide of the thousands of creatures pouring into the city every second. Maybe, just_ maybe _the Huntsmen could do it, if they got everyone together and…._

 _But he knew deep down no Huntsmen were coming. At least not to_ this _part of town. Those who weren't running for their lives or boarding an airship would be defending what was left of Beacon or the city's center. Out here, in the less well-off neighborhoods which he called home?_

 _They were alone._

 _The boy had only one objective: to make it back home and save his mother and younger brother. He had no weapons. He had no training. He didn't even have his Aura unlocked. That practice was reserved for those bound for Training Academies. But of course only those who could afford it were able to send their children to such academies. The rest of the world was stuck as normal human beings: weak, powerless, and easily broken._

 _It wasn't right. And it wasn't fair. Especially now, when there was no-one to defend those everyday people. But it was life. There was nothing you could do about it._

 _Whispering a heartfelt prayer to the powers that were, the boy rounded the corner and tore down the abandoned street. Despite the suffocating darkness the streetlights were unlit. Many of the shop windows were shattered, presumably by looters, and most of the doors were shut. No light of any sort shone from any of the windows, but the occasional whimper of a scared child or wail of a newborn baby betrayed the scores of civilians still hiding in their homes. '_ More like trapped,' _the boy thought to himself. He couldn't understand why no-one had come to evacuate them. As they were, the people were practically a buffet line for the ravenous Grimm. At least by running they forced the Grimm to chase after them._

 _The thought didn't help._

 _Mercifully, there were no Grimm in sight on the forlorn street. But only time would tell how long that would last._

 _Relief coursed through the boy's small frame. His family's somewhat rundown house still stood, a shaky wooden structure dwarfed by the giant brick apartment building beside it. The shadow of the larger building stretched over the house eerily in the unnatural darkness. A sense of foreboding enshrouded the entire scene._

"Mother!" _the boy shouted, throwing open the door and rushing through the small house in an instant. "_ Derek! Where are you? We have to get out of here!"

 _A muffled thumping sound from the cellar slowly grew louder and louder. A small boy followed behind by his frantic-looking mother emerged from the basement door. Upon seeing the face of her missing son, the mother choked back a sob of relief._

"Ian!" _she cried, throwing her arms around him and smothering him in a long-lasting hug. "_ I was so worried! I was just about to come looking for you, but I couldn't leave Derek alone and he…"

"Mom it's okay," _the boy, Ian, responded, trying without success to sound more confident than he felt. "_ But we need to leave. The invasion is getting worse, and no-one is coming to save us. I know a way out of the city, but we have to get out before any of those _things_ come."

 _The older woman was in no state to argue. Her inconsistent ramblings were the perfect indicator of the overwhelming panic that every moment was welling up within her. Nodding somewhat unconsciously she motioned for her elder son to lead the way._

 _Ian looked down at his younger brother and managed a weak smile. The gravity of the smaller boy's_ _terror spilled forth from his eyes, wetting the neck of his shirt and burning the small cut on his face. An embarrassing stain of much larger proportions had already darkened the inside leg of his pants. If not put in check, his overpowering consternation would soon render him completely immobile and useless; fit only as a quick and easy appetizer for the approaching Grimm._

 _Ian knew this. He could always tell what his brother was feeling. It was what made them so inseparable. And he knew he had to stop it now before it got out of control._

"Hey Derek," _he spoke encouragingly. "_ We're gonna make it through this, I promise. The Huntsmen will come for us. They're good enough to beat a million Grimm each. I was just down at the Training Academy today."

 _The younger boy's eyes lit up. Despite not having nearly enough money to attend, the boys had often been taken by their father to go watch the young students at work. Many had been the hour spent peering over the brick wall or peeking through the massive colored windows at the children their own age learning to use their weapons and their souls as extensions of themselves. And every day the boys had wished that they might join those students, and perhaps someday attend Beacon and become a noble Huntsman protecting the innocent and striking fear into the heart of any Grimm that they found. And their father would laugh, somewhat sad that he could not provide for the wishes of his family, and tell them that there were many other important jobs that had to be done for society to function properly._

 _That all was, of course, before their father's untimely death at the hands of the White Fang. It had turned out that their father had not been the man they'd thought him to be._

 _Ian saw the hope flash back into his brother's hazel eyes. His own smile widened._

"How about this," _he continued. "_ I'll tell you all about it _after_ we get somewhere safe."

 _The younger boy nodded frantically. He had not seen or heard anything of the Academy since their father's death. Ian ruffled Derek's hair affectionately._

"Let's go," _he added, walking out of the front door._

* * *

The piercing pain of the memory through his mind brought his senses back to the present. His companions were still around him, moving alongside him slowly towards the foreboding silhouette of the tower of Beacon. Little but rubble surrounded the half-ruined tower, evidence of the depths of the people's despair after Vale had been breached. Sure, they had tried to retake the area from the Grimm, but every effort was met with failure. Eventually they had given up hope, sectioning that part of the city off from the rest. ' _Besides,'_ they had reasoned. ' _That's the poorer part of the city anyway. All the better if the Grimm have it. It was a detriment to society anyway.'_ Thus they had doomed the hundreds still hiding amid the abandoned houses to the certain but slow fate of being hunted down and eaten alive. No Huntsman had tried to save them. The risk was too great. But wasn't that the job description?

The partially-collapsed tower served as a constant reminder of the devastation the Grimm had caused. It loomed over the once-inhabited areas now swarming with Grimm of every sort. The people of Vale were no longer a proud, independent race. They were livestock, trapped within their own city and only able to escape by sea. The walls built to protect the breach were constantly under attack by hordes of the Grimm. But most of the people, whether through courage or stupidity, refused to abandon their city to the creatures, and their determination prevented their fear from attracting the largest of the Grimm.

To the Huntsmen's credit some of them had continued to use the Tower as a sort of training ground, despite having moved the Academy within the safety of the Divide. It was a sort of rite of passage for the last year students. Each team of four would travel to the tower by underground train, pick a floor, and try to survive the night. There was, of course, a professional Huntsman or Huntress always on duty, ready to step in if things got particularly worrisome. Those who made it through the night graduated. Those whose cautionary Huntsman intervened were made to wait a few more months of training. It was a dangerous tradition, one that had left more than one student in a bodybag, but it proved that the grit of the Huntsman Corps remained, even if their honor did not.

 _Honor_. It was a word that struck a strange chord in the cloaked man's musings. Once he had seen the Huntsmen as the epitome of honor, of courage. Once they had been selfless, always willing to do anything to save a life, always putting others' needs first. He'd wanted more than anything to be one of them.

His wry grin widened. Now he was the exact opposite of that childish desire. Now he was what all Huntsmen and Huntresses would fear.

 _Honor._ The idea refused to leave. Even as he and the others stealthily slipped closer to the shattered square which engulfed the base of the tower, he felt the question rise up within him, as it had done so many times before. ' _Am I...honorable?'_

He rolled the question over in his mind as if it were as sweet wine across his palette. Was what he did, honorable? Noble? Was it making the world better?

His conscience refused to provide an definite answer. It never did. Once again he was forced to fall back on the subjective logic that had for so many years prevented him from truly contemplating the depravity of his actions. It had always worked before. It would in all likelihood continue to do so.

To the first pair of questions he had no answer. To the last he was sure. Ever since the Fall of Beacon the Huntsmen had begun to seize more and more power from the kingdoms all across Remnant. Under the guise of 'safety' they had begun to clamp down on all peoples with an almost dictatorial rule. It had come in small doses over the past 10 years: convincing the governments to do away with this law or that, enforcing curfews to prevent people from being killed by the Grimm that hid in the shadows, making it extremely expensive and nigh impossible to travel between kingdoms, and so on. The head of the Huntsmen in each city had eventually become, in all practicality, the Monarch of that area of land, essentially doing with it as he or she pleased. Who could hope to stop them? All of Atlas' robotic forces had been decommissioned after the hack in Vale. The Huntsmen had become the only protection of the people, and were abusing that office.

 _That was why he needed to stop them. To bring freedom and safety back to the world._

He nearly laughed aloud at that thought, as would have any of his other teammates. All of the 'freedom-fighter' propaganda was pure crap. He knew why he and his fellows had been assigned to this mission. They would have done it anyway, so the White Fang had decided to at least _pretend_ it was a legit mission.

He wanted to brutally murder every last Huntsman and Huntress in Remnant.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A Broken Spirit**_

 _The boy's last sight of his mother was her worried expression as he turned to lead them out of the house. With his heart pounding from the responsibility of keeping his family safe, he leaned his head out the door and craned his neck first to the right, then the left. The street was as empty as he had left it._

"Okay," _he began, his breathing calming somewhat. "_ I think we're in the clea…"

 _The explosion of the house behind him sent him sprawling through the air, splinters of varying sizes lacerating his thinly-covered back. The solid pavement of the street rose to meet him as his outstretched arms struggled to soften the blow. With the crunching of bones he smashed his all too feeble body against the stone._

 _He could feel the crushing impact throughout his entire body, centering on his chest and head. Somehow it didn't hurt, even though he could feel several of his shattered ribs grating against one another as he weakly labored to get to his feet. When he finally succeeded he found that his vision was devoid of all color, as if someone had replaced every pigment with varying shades of black and white. His thoughts were incoherent and fuzzy. He couldn't seem to remember what he'd been trying to do or where he was._

 _In his state of shock every sound seemed to be coming from miles away. The entire world felt disconnected. His ability to process information was all but gone. All he felt like doing was lying down and sleeping, yes, and perhaps never waking up. But one sound prevented him from doing so. '_ It's really quite rude,' _his disjointed mind complained. '_ to scream so loudly like that when someone is trying to take a nap.'

 _Then his eyes cleared._

 _There before him was a pile of rubble. It had once been a small house beside a large apartment complex. Now it was slabs of rocks and splintered beams._

 _Amidst these, half buried under a massive block of cement, was the broken form of a small boy. Only his upper torso was visible; from his navel down there was nothing but a smear between two rocks. His eyes were opened wide, filled with a pain which consumes all sense and reason, a pain which renders a man nothing more than a husk of unending agony._

 _Derek was screaming. It was a wordless, meaningless, and pointless scream. He was already dead, whether he knew it or not. His stomach, intestines, liver, and kidneys were now about as thick as a piece of parchment. Already blood was oozing from the stones which held him entrapped in their embrace. His only sensation was pain. That was his world. Pain and fear, a fear which obliterates all semblance of humanity. A fear of dying, and experiencing all of the unknown that follows. A fear of living, and enduring all the agony which that entails. It was the scream of a little boy who had nothing left to do, nothing left he_ could _do, nothing, except to scream._

 _Ian rushed forward, abandoning all sense and yanking on his brother's groping arms. The shrieks rose to an inhuman pitch. Realizing with horror what he had just done, the older boy stumbled back. All at once his own pain caught up to him, and he doubled over, vomiting again and again from the sheer overload of pain receptors screaming into his spinal cord and brain._

 _Gasping he writhed on the pavement, only causing himself more agony with each movement. Crying burning tears he crawled back over to his brother._

"Make it stop!" _the younger boy wailed over and over. "_ Makeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstoppleasemakeitstop!" _Eventually these words devolved back to that demonic howl._

 _Ian forced himself to stand. Immediately he wished he hadn't. Several yards away a huge Ursa was calmly approaching, dwarfed by the massive bulk of the Goliath that had destroyed everything the boy had loved. The colossal beast slowly lumbered off, but the Ursa continued towards the boys, saliva dripping from its gleaming teeth._

 _Ian knew that if he ran the creature would rip his brother apart and eat him alive, piece by piece. He knew that if he stumbled away now he could escape. And he knew that death was all David wanted now._

 _But not death like this._

 _Before he could stop himself Ian lifted a heavy rock up onto his shoulder. With tears streaming from his eyes he let it drop onto his brother's exposed neck._

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _The silence was far more deafening than the screams had been._

 _All thought of escape vanished along with his brother's life. Ian collapsed onto the bricks and boards, not caring for his own safety, surrendering to the overwhelming torment within his own body._

 _How had this happened?_

 _Something had broken within him. Something that could never be fixed. He could feel, on top of all of his physical agony, a sort of spiritual pang, as if his soul had been broken along with his ribs. Not that it mattered. He himself would be dead in a few moments._

 _But somewhere, deep inside him, he was glad. He'd done the right thing, right?_

 _His conscience was oddly silent. He could no longer discern its quiet voice in his mind. The murder of his brother had silenced any internal moral debate. It was like he had shocked his very soul to silence._

 _Who had caused this to occur?_

 _His ponderings were interrupted by the roaring Ursa, which cared little for Ian's inner conflict. Its only care was of dinner, which was currently lying on the ground right at its feet._

 _Whose fault was this? He struggled to find someone to blame, as if that could somehow have any effect on the situation. Only two names came to mind._

 _The first was his own._

 _The second was the Huntsmen._

 _Suddenly everything was clear. Of course it was the Huntsmen's fault. If they'd done their job, or cared less for the rich district, or fought instead of running like cowards, or allowed_ everyone _to have their auras unlocked then_ his brother would not be dead!

 _Ian squeezed his eyes tight as the Ursa raised its paw to strike. A single tear leaked from the corner of his eyelid. '_ I'm sorry Derek,' _he thought. '_ I couldn't keep you safe.'

 _A heavy_ _ **thump**_ _followed by a sharp roar of pain was all he heard. 5 seconds passed without the abrupt ending of his life. He cracked open an eyelid._

 _There, standing atop the massive creature like an angel from the heavens was a young woman, about as tall as Ian himself. She held some sort of weapon in her hand….was that a pink parasol?...with a blade protruding from its end. This was planted in the beast's neck. The gurgling sounds from its transfixed throat were dying away._

 _Ian looked up at the girl's face. Her hair was split down the middle, half brown, half pink. Her clothing was white and brown, with trimmings of that same pink on every article._

 _Then he noticed her eyes. They were full of tears, tears that came streaming down her cheeks and dampening her collar. He wondered why such a beautiful girl was crying._ She _wasn't the one with things to cry about._

 _His arm stretched out towards her of its own accord. She looked down at the pitiful boy grimacing in pain as he looked up at her in awe. She sneered, lifted her head, and walked away, wiping her face with her sleeve._

 _Ian was crushed. It had all happened so abruptly. He couldn't believe that this girl (no, Huntress. She_ had _to be a Huntress) had saved his life, then left him to die, possibly in even greater agony than he would have! Immediately his hatred of the Huntsmen returned, more powerful than ever. Who were they, these gods among men, that they dared to play about with the lives of those entrusted to them as if all others were mere ants? How could they allow his life to be dragged out into hours of suffering, just as his brother's might have been?_

 _Pushing himself up to his feet with strength fueled by rage, he stumbled after her. The girl noticed his attempts at pursuit and stopped, as if amused. Ian could contain himself no longer._

"Look what you've done, you damn Huntress! Look at what you caused! My family is dead, and all these houses around will be too just because you were too afraid to come here and save us! What do you say to _that_ you entitled _prig!_ "

 _His speech was hardly poetic, and he used a word he'd heard his father say once, but based on the shock written across the girl's face, it seemed to have had the desired effect. He awaited her response, simmering but somewhat pleased with the rebuke he had given her._

 _Then the girl began to laugh. It wasn't exactly the sound one expects from a young woman laughing. It was a strange laughter, lacking any definable syllables, yet still perfectly expressing the emotion of surprised amusement._

 _Ian was shocked. It was the last thing he'd expected her to do. First she'd been crying, then snooty, now laughing? He decided that she was laughing at the idea of Huntsmen caring about people at all. His anger redoubled within him. His eye caught the corpse of his brother. The corpse_ he _had created. The life that_ he _had ended. The girl's laugh abruptly ended as she too saw the body._

 _He jumped forward, ignoring the throbbing protest of his battered frame. Screaming a string of curses he ran towards the wicked Huntress as quickly as his legs could carry him, intent on ripping her apart piece by piece. His ankle hooked a broken beam. His body hit the pavement yet again._

 _Then all the anger was gone, replaced by only sorrow. Not the deep, helpful sorrow that helps one to cope with a loss. It was the violent passion of sorrow, which throws one into an abyss of despair and answers any attempt at escaping with a shove back to the bottom._

 _He was alone. He would always be alone. Once this Huntress left, he would be completely and utterly helpless, forsaken by everyone who had ever been a part of his life. His father, his mother, his brother? Dead. In fact, the prospect of joining them seemed the best option at this point. He would seek out a Grimm to end his life, allowing him to at least avoid the pain of abandonment._

 _He hadn't even realized that he was crying. A soft hand was wiping away the tears. He looked up and saw the compassionate face of the Huntress looking down at him with pity. He tried to hate her. He tried to pull away from her motherly touch, but he couldn't. All he could do was stare up at her and wonder why._

 _In a moment the touching scene was over. At the howl of a Beowolf from somewhere nearby, the girl shot to her feet and put her hand on her umbrella. She looked down at the broken boy, paused for a long second, then offered her hand. In a daze Ian took it. With surprising strength she yanked him to his feet. Then, in an unmistakeable message to follow, she motioned for him to follow her._

 _He wanted to follow her. He wanted to believe that, even after all this, the Huntsmen could be trusted. But first he needed to know._

"Why?" _he asked. The girl turned back. "_ Why would you help me?"

 _The girl gazed at him sadly. Then, without so much as moving her lips, she pointed at the crushed body of Derek, then back at him. Then back at the body, then to herself._

 _Ian understood. "_ You've lost someone too." _It wasn't a question. The girl nodded sadly. "_ You're all alone too." _Another nod. Another thought crossed the boy's mind. "_ Then why did you laugh at me?"

 _At this, a slight grin broke out across the girl's face. She pointed out at Beacon tower, then at herself, and shook her head violently. Comprehension dawned upon Ian's dulled mind._

"You're not a Huntress at all," _he said. Somehow this thought made him sad again. Then he realized that it wasn't sadness. It was hatred._

 _Another howl, this one closer. The girl held out her arm to him. Unsure why, he hobbled forward and grasped her hand._

 _Then they were gone. He didn't know how. But the broken house, the bleeding corpse, the cracked pavement, everything was gone, replaced by a grassy field. There before him was the city of Vale, screams rising to the broken moon along with the smoke from dozens of fires. Atop the devastated tower of Beacon a massive dragon-like Grimm batted the air with its wings, while flashes of orange flames flickered here and there like candles in the dark sky._

 _Then the tower erupted in a flare of white light so blinding that he was forced to cover his face with his hand. He could almost feel the power of the blast all the way from where he stood._

 _When it finally faded, he saw that there was no further sign of activity from the tower's peak. He stepped forward, intent on seeing what had happened, but paused at the sound of a slight groan at his feet._

 _Looking down he gasped. There, struggling to rise from her prostrate position, was the pink-haired girl. She was moaning softly as he pulled her to her feet. However she had gotten them here, it had obviously exhausted her. She stood shakily for a moment, then collapsed back to the ground. Ian leapt to catch her, but only half succeeded. The two of them sat together on the ground as the grass swayed back and forth around them._

 _After a moment, Ian looked over at her. She was staring at him, her eyes drooping every few moments. But he had one last question._

"What can I call you," _he whispered softly, hoping that it didn't come across like a master naming his pet._

 _The girl didn't respond. But from a pocket within her coat she pulled a small card, folded and bent from years of opening and closing. Careful not to show him what was inside, the girl pointed at a few lines written on the outside. They read, "_ To Neo, From Roman."

"Your name's Neo?" _Ian asked quietly. He noticed a glistening in her eyes as she nodded. Then she sniffed, and pointed back at him._

"My name?" _the boy asked. Neo nodded. It never occurred to him that because she never spoke it would not matter whether or not she knew his name._

 _He opened his mouth. The name would not come out. It was as though his mind refused to believe that this was his name anymore. That this was_ him _anymore._

 _His thoughts flew back to his dead brother. The lifeless corpse. That was how he felt inside. Dead, but for the tiniest bit of hope centered around the girl in front of him. He was empty inside. He was soulless._

"Derek," _he said, not truly understanding why. "_ You can call me Derek."

* * *

They were here. Derek motioned for his followers to stop. Directly before them the crumbling tower of Beacon rose high into the air above. From within he could hear the growls of Grimm and the cries of students in combat. That was good. They were distracted. Getting to the train below the tower would be simple. And if combat became inevitable, that was fine too.

From his bag Derek pulled a thin white mask lined with red streaks. It was the perfect replica of those which decorated the heads of the Grimm He donned the mask, relishing in the feeling of power it gave him. Who needed an Aura when protected by the power of fear? Who needed a Semblance when strengthened by a driving hatred?

He turned back to the five figures behind him, all covered in black but one. Neo, as always, had refused to discard her pink color scheme. She winked at him as his gaze passed her by.

Then they were gone, sprinting through the open doors as quickly as the night. ' _A fitting comparison,'_ Derek thought. " _For Darkness has arrived."_


End file.
